April 2026 | Caregiving

It has been said that changing the world is more about caregiving than war. Caregiving is often invisible, yet crucial. The idea that a caring, tender act can create change is very profound. Because caregiving is typically found within the context of close personal relationships, it is often absent from discussions of philosophy and politics. Caring for those close to us feels like a moral imperative, while caring for those with a different relationship to us may not.

When we care for another person, we become no longer an individual with one set of values and interests; our goals expand to include those of another. The self expands in order to do more collective good. During the HIV/AIDS epidemic in the 80s, when many were denied care, and family and neighbours often refused to help, caregiving became activism, and many who performed it faced social stigma. In hindsight we can recognise the moral and selfless nature of choosing to take care under those circumstances.

Yoga provides us an opportunity to examine the concept of care towards oneself and also towards others. Living in an ashram or community also provides opportunity to consider the well-being of the group as a whole, where many of its members may be near-strangers. Swami Sivananda was known for tending to sick sadhus and sadhaks in Swarg Ashram in Rishikesh, however he recognised that each of the physical, emotional, and also spiritual needs of a person must be taken care of.

In this issue of Sivananda Yoga Sandesha we explore caregiving from a few different angles: caring for ourselves, caring for our loved ones, and caring for our community. We share Swami Sivananda’s words on how aspirants should be cared for, the Caregiver’s Journal of one of our TTC graduates, and the story of Hanuman lifting an entire mountain to deliver a life-saving herb to Lakshman. We also explore research papers on caregiving in philosophy, and how group chanting enhances social connection, and finally, how to practice nabhi (navel) oiling to enjoy many physical and mental benefits. As usual, please feel free to reach out to us with your thoughts and feedback at: [email protected]

These snapshots were taken at various events around India: the inauguration of the new Health Hut at the Madurai Ashram, a visit by the MLA and local panchayat president to the Neyyar Dam Ashram, as well as yoga programmes held at Jindal Steel in Delhi and IIT Madras.

In addition to our own personal benefits, group chanting has been found to enhance social connection, foster interpersonal relationships, and shared experiences.
In another study, caregiving, and its connection to human thriving, is explored. Read more at the links below.

Physiological and Psychological Effects of Group Chanting:
https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/38091206/

Caregiving in Philosophy, Biology & Political Economy:
https://direct.mit.edu/daed/article/152/1/58/114998/Caregiving-in-Philosophy-Biology-amp-Political

Apr 2 – Full Moon
Apr 5 – Easter
Apr 13 – Ekadasi
Apr 15 – Vishu (Malayalam New Year)
Apr 17 – New Moon
Apr 27 – Ekadasi

Kapotaasana, or the Pigeon is generally considered to be an advanced backward bend, however, this very nourishing and stress-relieving asana can be practiced in some way by almost everybody. In this video we show reclining variations, chair variations, and even how to use the kitchen counter to prepare for Kapotaasana! Learn how to include this asana in your own practice, and that of your students to relieve tension in the hips and back, relieve sciatica, encourage deeper breathing, strengthen digestion, all while maintaining a calm, relaxed state of mind.

 I hope this video is beneficial for your practice and teaching. With best wishes for your yoga practice! Pranams.

Nabhi, or navel in Ayurveda, is the centre of subtle energy, a point where over 72,000 veins converge and distribute energy throughout the body. Nabhi, a vital marma point, connects to energy pathways (nadis) that link to the physical structures of the body, including organs and tissues.
The tradition of navel oiling originates from the belief that the navel is the body’s centre of balance, containing a vast network of blood vessels and energy pathways. Known traditionally as ‘Nabhi Chikista’, it involves applying and massaging warm medicated oil or ghee into the belly button with the aim of improving digestion, increasing energy, achieving glowing skin, and calming the mind.
Oils Used for Nabhi Oiling:

• Ghee – Believed to balance pitta and vata dosha, ghee improves digestion and boosts vitality.
• Sesame Oil – Believed to nourish and relieve dryness and calm down vata dosha.
• Coconut Oil – Believed to calm down inflammation and cool the heated pitta tendencies.
• Castor Oil – Believed to boost sluggish digestion and detoxify stagnation.

Benefits of Nabhi Oiling:

• Promotes agni or digestive fire
• Supports internal hydration, relieving dryness from skin, lips, or joints
• Calms down the nervous system and promotes sound sleep
• Eases menstrual discomfort
• Restores warmth in the body
• Promotes clear, healthy skin

In the blue hours before dawn, when the smoke of Lanka’s battlefield hung like a shroud over the exhausted, a tremor of fear swept through Rama’s camp. Lakshman, struck down by Indrajit’s celestial arrow, lay unmoving on the earth. His breath grew shallow. His pulse slowed. Even the bravest warriors, who had stood fearless before armies, felt helpless before the stillness of one beloved life.

It is in moments like these that the Ramayana reveals its most human truth: even in an epic of gods and kings, the pivotal moments are not determined by weapons, but by love and care.

When the healer Sushena examined Lakshman, he mentioned a single, distant remedy: Sanjeevani, the herb that restores breath, found only on Mount Dronagiri in the Himalayas, but it was impossibly far away. The night was short, and Laxman’s death was close.

And it was then that Hanuman stepped forward bearing no weapon, only a promise: “I will go.”

Hanuman’s leap across the ocean is often celebrated as a feat of extraordinary strength. But the Ramayana invites us to look beneath the heroism at something more intimate: the instinct that lives in every caregiver’s heart, the capacity to act without fear when someone we love is in need.

When he reached the mountain, a new challenge awaited. Hundreds of herbs shimmered in the moonlight, each radiant, each potent, and he could not distinguish Sanjeevani from the rest. He did not despair. He did not turn back.

Instead, he performed an act as immense as it was tender: he reached beneath the earth’s foundations, lifted the entire mountain, and carried it back to the battlefield. This is not the gesture of a warrior. It is the gesture of care when love refuses to give up.

Victory in Lanka did not come from the sharpest arrow or the mightiest weapon. It came from the preservation of one fragile, precious life. When Hanuman returned, the scent of mountain herbs filled the air like a collective sigh of relief, and Sushena prepared the remedy in silence. The immense weight Hanuman had carried across sky and sea was answered by a single quiet miracle: Lakshman breathed again.

The war resumed. But the epic paused, as if to remind us: the greatest power is not the ability to take life. It is the endurance, the devotion, and the willingness to carry mountains required to save it.

If you think about it deeply, Hanuman’s journey is not, at its heart, a story of conquest. It is a testament to what devotion looks like when it is tested, not in temples or on thrones, but in the dark hours when someone we love is slipping away, and we choose, without hesitation, to go.

Care is a form of strength. Devotion is a form of courage. And sometimes, the mightiest act of a hero is simply and completely refusing to let go. It’s giving all in the hour of need.

It was May 2016, and my mother and I were sitting in a hospital in Delhi waiting for the doctor to arrive from the morning IPD rounds. We were about to embark on a pilgrimage for my dad, whom I lost just three years earlier. My mother seemed nervous yet calm. The doctor rushed into the small kiosk with my mother’s MRI scans in his hands – he pinned them to the lightbox as it flickered to bright white, revealing some of the most complex images of the brain.

“Mrs. —, you have a brain tumour, and you must get it operated on within two weeks from now, or else it may become malignant, and we’re not sure what the consequences might be”. My mother just sat there. No hyperventilation. No crying. No questions. She just let out a sigh, and at that moment, I could feel the weight of her long exhale. The doctor was still looking at her and asked how she was feeling, to which my mother didn’t say anything. We graciously stood up, smiled, thanked the doctor, and came out of the little room to join the herd of hundreds of patients waiting outside, with similar confused yet anxious looks on their faces. The smell of fresh floor cleaners, jaded reception staff, the chatty nursing stations, the hiss of the blood pressure machine – all were following their own rhythm and amongst all this were my mother and I – silently sitting and wondering what happens next.

Namaste, I invite you on a journey within my life as a caregiver for my mother for the last nine years. One might think (and I don’t blame them) that caregiving is quite straightforward, i.e. you know what the patient needs, and you learn to adapt to a checklist of things and chores. You anticipate the thirst before their lips dry or the pain before it tightens their chest. You deliver care. However, in the past nine years, I can confidently say that it is much more than one could ever imagine. I would go so far as to say it’s transformational, from your core to your soul (for lack of a better metaphor).

Here is my complex tapestry of emotions that I experienced: Surprise, Denial, Fear, Investigation, Anger, Frustration, Exhaustion, Tiredness, Hallucinations, Doubts, Pain, Panic, Hope, Prayer, Delight, Silence, Disgust, Inquiry, Sickness, Contemplation, Remorse, Meditation, and Observer (The Drushta Bhaava).

How I Felt at the Hospital

Caregiving is anything but simple. It is all-consuming, and I lost myself in the abyss of sleeping on ICU floors, witnessing someone die on an adjacent bed, hearing vigorous ventilators buzzing all night, enduring incessant coughing, smelling the sharp scent of ‘spirit’, seeing drip-punctured arms of patients, and noticing the paper tapes securing plastic tubes to their skin. It’s a horrifying image that fosters hopelessness. The sleepless nights pile up, leading to lethargy and irritation – all the while, you must remain loving toward the one on the hospital bed.

The everyday task makes me feel as if I am running on a treadmill that I cannot stop. The biggest physical or emotional toll is in the form of ‘anxiety’ that arises from the fact that at any moment, anything can happen and I must be prepared for it. There is hardly any downtime when you are caregiving because your life revolves around one single person. The nervous system gets dysregulated very quickly, and if you don’t pay attention, you yourself can become sick in no time. The emotional toll of being the sole “lighthouse” for someone who is bed-ridden is truly chaotic in nature.

One of the most profound emotional shifts occurs within your relationship with your parent. As I bathe my mother and change her clothes, I must treat her like a child. I need to be patient and use the utmost care to prevent any accidents while assisting her with daily tasks. It feels strange to adopt this role, as witnessing human fragility daily deeply heightens your sensitivity to others’ pain.

I have learnt so much about myself since I began the journey nine years ago. I have realised that life is truly an unimaginable coincidence that is asking us to “play along. ” It is indeed fleeting, but it looks quite static when you are doing the same thing repeatedly. You learn so much about the human body, the nourishment it needs psychologically and emotionally, the rest, the sleep, and most of all, the love it feels with a familiar embrace.

My journey has taught me to pause, to reflect, to move with awareness, to give respect to the life force every day through Yoga practice or Pranayama, to incorporate mobility into my daily routine, to start seeing food as fuel, to treat the most irritating moments as opportunities for transformation, and to agree within myself to be a silent observer. Yet, I feel as if I am a million miles away from knowing exactly what to do.

I read a quote somewhere: “You can’t pour from an empty cup,” and that is one of the most profound lessons I will share with everyone reading this.

Please ensure you treat yourself as if you are in love with yourself.

-Anonymous
TTC Graduate, India